


Grim

by ac1d6urn (Acid)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Dogs, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Snarry-A-Thon18, Spinner's End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-30 19:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acid/pseuds/ac1d6urn
Summary: After the war, the house on Spinner's End is a shelter, but not a home. Then Snape lets in a pair of strays.





	Grim

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Antuhsa for proofreading, which is actually a great understatement, as she saw the potential of the draft with only a glimpse of the story structure to it, taught me the importance of a midpoint, and prompted the overhaul of the disconnected patchwork of scenes until they fit together in proper order, encouraging me to grow the story a quarter longer than before. To summarise, she is the reason that this tale grew beyond its initial form of first half, something readable, and second half, resolution. Thank you to Badgerlady, whose patience explaining grammar and punctuation rules at just the right time is to be admired, and whose persistence in chasing down stray commas is very much appreciated. Thank you, also and always, to Sinick for teaching me who Snape is, beyond the usual facade, the billowing cloak, and the sarcastic remarks. 
> 
> This is for all the dogs I've met that would make a great wizard, for all the humans who aren't really dog people, and for anyone brave enough to risk a change, be it tackling house-cleaning as therapy or sharing childhood traumas.
> 
> Prompt: 11) After his death, Sirius has to atone for his sins. He can't move on until he has helped Severus get the thing he wants the most: Harry.

_"All his life he tried to be a good person. Many times, however, he failed.  
For after all, he was only human. He wasn't a dog."  
\- Charles M. Schulz_

* * *

The stray appeared at Snape's door on November the third, in the downpour. Snape heard the delicate scratching and swung the front door open, without taking down the wards. 

A black pup huddled against the brick wall on the single front step. It sniffed the magical barrier, oblivious to the open door and to Snape behind the warded threshold. Its awkward, large paws kept out of the worst of the puddle. Dark, filthy fur was matted with old burrs and caked mud. Short whiskers twitched. Lightning-grey eyes looked up past Snape and the pup released a high-pitched whine to echo the rolling thunder.

It was nighttime, and Snape didn't have the will to chase the stray off his doorstep. November nights were cold and miserable enough, especially on the other side of that door. Though the cold and the misery applied to every sleeping and waking hour inside this house, draughty and lonesome. The small fireplace downstairs did not have the reach to heat the entire sitting room, let alone the upstairs bedroom. Still, that was nothing compared to the winter memory of sitting on the icy front step, shivering feverishly even with the warming spells. Snape had spent that night wide awake, wondering if the morning would ever come and if the door slammed shut in his face by Da would ever open to let him back in.

So instead of closing the door once and for all to shut out a fellow stray, Snape raised his wand. 

"Impervius." The water droplets gathered over the matted fur and rolled off it as if rolling off a goose feather. He followed up with a long-acting warming spell.

It was a small mercy, considering the weather.

With the front door bolted once again and protective spells raised (far too few of them these days, the kind that would only alarm a Squib if the magic bit back), Snape settled down in his armchair with a glass of wine and some reading to keep him company. The armchair creaked under Snape's scrawny form. Old as it was, it was still the newest piece of furniture here, one that wasn't handed down by the previous generation of Snape family, or rescued by Mum from a rubbish bin and Reparoed into an acceptable state. Such a frivolity it had been, one Snape hadn't dared to repeat for decades since: what would be the point of adding comforts to such a hopeless hovel? No one besides Snape was ever around long enough to appreciate the gesture.

With the wind howling outside as it did, it should have been impossible to hear a bark, much less the faint scratching against the front door. That steady, persistent noise of a creature right beyond the threshold, the mere knowledge of it existing, made it hard to concentrate: the _Potions Quarterly_ did not hold Snape's attention as it usually did. His mind wandered. It must've been the storm which made the small house on Spinner's End feel as though the walls themselves were closing in, as if years had gone by in a blink of an eye, and the Extension Charm that held them apart withered abruptly after its caster's passing, entombing Snape in a dusty enclosure of narrow bookshelves and old memory lanes.

The storm continued well into the morning, the occasional roll of distant thunder and the sound of rain outside his bedroom window lulled Snape to sleep as well as woke him in the early hours. Greying twilight seeped through the curtain to the dull patter of raindrops against the narrow window. Snape dressed, took the creaking staircase down and strode barefoot across the splintery floorboards. Not to the kitchen, as was his habit, but to the front door. 

He listened. 

All was quiet. Too quiet. That alone was worrying enough to defy common sense.

"Finite Incantatem." 

The faint magical barrier around the door flared and fizzled. He cracked the door open to let out his nose and his glare, peering into the rain. The stray, slightly less soggy, jumped at the commotion with a surprised yelp, tail tucked between the legs.

The stray looked thin, small enough to be an inside dog, should Snape be willing to embrace complete insanity and let in every creature from the street. The last time he'd let a 'pet' in, it had been Pettigrew, and he was never planning to do anything of the kind again. Someone, anyone, getting inside these walls and skulking in the corners, whether it be an animal or a human, was enough to give Snape nightmares.

This stray, however, seemed as common as the dirt on its haunches and harmless enough to be offered some kind of shelter. It was unlikely that it would be an Animagus of questionable character. Thus, all his concerns of letting a human guest through the fated threshold into the dwelling, unkempt enough to send anyone rushing out the door, did not quite apply. So why did Snape still feel so self-conscious about the yellowing newspaper piles and the rickety, stained furniture older than Snape himself, about the table and the lamp that would crumble into bits if it wasn't for the occasional Reparo cast in their direction, about the threadbare rugs and the soot stains in front of the fireplace?

Snape drew himself up and brushed the dust flecks from his robe. As soon as the door opened an inch wider, his bare toes curled with discomfort which he wouldn't've admitted was embarrassment. Instead, he opted for the most regal stance he could manage, to counteract all the squalor inside.

"Well," he said loftily, addressing the shivering pup, "do you need a written invitation?"

The stray lifted its head and sniffed, peering up from the step which glistened with frost. The pup was even younger than it seemed at first glance and had no visible collar. It would probably not have survived the night without Snape's intervention. 

Snape swung the door open before he could mull the decision over and come to his senses. 

The pup stumbled over the threshold, past Snape's bare feet, right into the tiny sitting room, spreading great muddy tracks all over the floor. Snape Evanescoed the worst of it, and steered the stray into the kitchen, eyeing the soggy, dark spectacle with a newfound amusement. In the middle of the kitchen, the stray stopped, dug its paws in and shook out the rainwater right over Mum's best rug.

"No!" Snape exclaimed. "Bad!"

The stray turned, whined, and stared at Snape's feet. Its tail wagged.

"It won't work on me. I am not a dog person."

The stray paced, sniffing around and then stopped with a small full-body shake.

"Hmph. Accio old towel," Snape said and stared at the drenched, scrawny sides where every rib was on display for counting. "I suppose you'll want food. Accio leftovers."

From the awkward way the pup stilled and crouched beneath the hovering items, first the towel, and then the small cauldron, Snape assumed that the stray had never been a part of a household, much less a wizarding one. 

"Don't expect a treatment like this tomorrow," Snape instructed the stray, towelling off the worst of the water. The stray was a male, it looked like, under all that shaggy fur. He was happily distracted devouring the remains of Snape's supper from a cast iron cauldron. "Only until the weather improves. Sit! Tergeo!" The burrs that clung to the dog's belly and behind the ears had to be vanished one by one (fortunately Snape had a patient hand). All the while the pup stared up at Snape with the sleepy fog-grey stare, sniffing with caution, and angling his sides for the scratching now and then, breath still heavy with the smell of beef stew.

A week later, the first of the real frost hit and it snowed. By then the pup napped, safe and warm, on the kitchen rug, claiming Snape's torn towel as his sleeping spot, after Snape had spread it for him in the corner by the stove. He kept out of the way and accepted every food scrap Snape had to spare, the bottomless pit on legs that he was.

First thing in the morning, Snape placed an owl order for Corey's Crup Kibbles 'n Bits (Extra Crunchy) and measured the stray with his stare. The creature had already outgrown an average crup. Snape sighed and tripled the order. Any familiar needed positive reinforcement if he were to stay inside for a while. It was all part of the proper house-training routine.

"Oh, Severus, may you find a mad fool someday who sees your sorry self first thing in the morning and stays despite their better judgement," Mum had said once. Snape had spent four decades' worth of mornings free to contemplate the general state of mad fools in the world, and so he held no such hopes. He knew he was truly on his own by now.

To think of it, considering the state of Snape's lonely life, the stray was the only creature who stayed around overnight and wasn't likely to run away screaming.

* * *

Snape finished drying out the thick fur, and Evanescoed the soap suds floating all over the kitchen. Maybe washing the dog in the round tin tub Mum had used to bathe young Severus or do the laundry after he had outgrown it, had not been the brightest of ideas.

The Floo spluttered to life at five on a Friday. The flames spat and flared.

Snape spun, wand out by instinct. Behind him, the dog growled. 

"Oh hi! Didn't know you had a pet," Potter's disembodied, unannounced head said, ever so casual, as if he wasn't flashing his Auror badge under the collar along with a smile, and wasn't dropping by on his rather unpredictable Ministry surveillance routine.

The dog growled again. "Hush," Snape cautioned the beast. An argument with an Auror, albeit a wet-behind-his-ears junior like Potter, never led to anything good. Snape had learned that lesson ten times over by now.

"It's a temporary arrangement," he clarified, for both of their benefit. "Speaking of temporary arrangements, Mister Potter, you're a week early. What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Wanted to see how you are!" Potter stared off into the corner, the one with the newspaper stacks.

Snape rolled his eyes. _Who does he think I am to fall for this nonsense? His paramour?_

"It's just, I had to double my patrols."

Snape couldn't stop himself from punishing Potter with a sceptical smirk, to start with. _He's complaining to me about the inconvenience of turning my life upside down? The nerve!_ "Struggling to fill your Death Eater dalliance quotas these days?"

Potter winced. "It's not like that. The tracking spells on you are all off, caught some unusual patterns. And there's talk of magical deliveries to this address. They asked me to keep a close eye." He looked up demonstratively. "You know how they are. M'sure it's nothing, right, Professor?"

Snape hadn't been a professor for a long time and Potter knew it.

Behind Snape, the dog sneezed softly, nudging a cold nose into his palm. _Good for him, knowing whom to trust and whom to avoid._

Snape stepped aside revealing the source of all that trouble to Potter's gaze. "Well, if the Ministry wishes to apprehend and interrogate the crime witnesses," he proclaimed, "they are welcome to it. Although I doubt a non-magical beast will respond well to Veritaserum, or another magical substance."

The pup plopped his arse down on Snape's floorboards, raised one ear, and sniffed pitifully in Potter's general direction. 

"Aw!" Potter's stern expression melted. "You're downright vicious, I can tell! And you could eat a small Ministry worker in one sitting if you tried. So all the weird spell patterns and the deliveries... I reckon it was all on your account, wasn't it?"

What was it with fools who thought asking a dog a question was a reasonable course of action? The creature couldn't possibly respond. "No, Potter, I'm partial to all those Crup Kibbles with my morning cuppa," Snape deadpanned.

"Ha! So all those alarms were for nothing! Knew it! Hang on. 'M coming through." Snape didn't have time to object before the flames in his fireplace produced the entire Potter, formal robes and all. The pup yelped, sniffed and nudged Potter's side, the traitor.

"Oh, hi, girl, aren't you beautiful?" Potter exuded praise scratching the furry side. Soon enough, the traitor rolled over and showed his belly. "Are you a girl? Oh, sorry!" Potter shook his head. "And look at you! Who's a good boy? Who? You are! Yes you are!"

The pup barked enthusiastically and slobbered all over Potter's hands and fancy attire, shedding fur and inhibitions at a record pace.

"Don't get too close," Snape cautioned, sore at the sudden betrayal. "Who knows where he's been?"

"'S fine!" the brat grinned.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Oi!"

"You can smell that, can't you?" Snape added as a matter of fact, facing the dog. "Paperwork and misery through and through. And the sweat of a pious poster boy's brow, I suppose. If that's not representative of the entire organisation, I don't know what is."

"Ha bloody ha," Potter grumbled, petting the dog, who soaked up all the attention he could get. "I guess I deserve that."

"Hmph. Dog, down!" Snape called out, observing an enthusiastic pounce, out of the worry for his rickety table more than Potter's safety.

"What, seriously?" Potter exclaimed. "'Dog'? You can't keep calling him that!"

"Can't I?" Snape widened his grin from menacing to downright malicious. "Hasn't the Ministry meddled enough or do you wish to provide names for every new familiar besides all this sanctioned surveillance?"

Potter shrugged. "It's after hours, so I'm off duty for the night. Relax, no one at the Ministry is sanctioning anything, least of all puppies." He paused, grinning to himself. "Imagine the outrage!"

 _How generous of him._ "Disappointed, Mis-ter Potter?"

"'M just saying," Potter pushed his fringe back in frustration, "if you're making a huge decision like that, it ought to be a fair one. Everyone deserves a proper name!"

Snape arched his eyebrow. "So what, in your opinion, is a proper name for this mongrel?"

He enjoyed seeing the brat's eyes widen in surprise. _Predictable._ It looked as though Potter was going to suggest a name, but then stopped himself and said instead, "Dunno, never had an actual dog. Not _dog_ dog."

"So I see."

"Um, yeah, forget it, sorry I said it." Potter leaned over and tugged on one floppy black ear. The pup leaned against him as if expecting a belly rub to go with vigorous scratching. Side by side like that, they looked alike, a pair of shaggy unfed mongrels, the awkward, long-limbed kind that still hadn't grown into their full height.

"Are you inviting yourself to dinner as well?" Snape asked gruffly. "Or is Molly Weasley still feeding a multitude of strays these days?"

Potter shook his head, his awkward smile lighting up the room brighter than any lamp. "Um. I should go. Er, didn't mean to disturb you."

"You haven't." _It won't do to react to annoyances. They'll only need an excuse to multiply._

All things considered, the annoyance of Potter's company was a small price to pay for his prompt release from Azkaban. It was the weight of Potter's testimony in Snape's case that had steered the jury in his favour and an act like that was an immeasurable life debt. Snape had his own suspicions about Potter's eager volunteering to take his case as an Auror. Truthfully, the threat of Azkaban was much worse than Potter showing up weekly in his fireplace, after poring through the list of Snape's daily spell work and owl deliveries. Besides, Potter had the common sense to overlook the Extension Charms inside the kitchen cupboards and anything beyond the staircase concealed by the corner bookshelf. In fact, Potter pretended that the second floor didn't exist at all, for which Snape was thankful. Snape had never been keen to share the contents of his potions stores with the Ministry's watchful eyes and listening ears.

"Er, anyway, I'll let you get back to whatever it is you were doing," Potter said, stepping back toward the fireplace and crouching. Snape's fireplace was only large enough to suit the size of his sitting room, just tall enough for a dog to pass through, hardly a fit for a wizard. Soot settled over Potter's messy fringe, his owlish glasses glistened, reflecting the dull corner lamp with the dying candle. 

"You know, I've got another two weeks' worth of visits left until surveillance lifts. Then no more Ministry breathing down your neck. You'll be free. Just like the rest of us."

"Good," Snape murmured.

"Yeah, it is," Potter echoed, but his smile didn't seem as wide as before. "Brilliant. Congratulations, Professor. It's been a long time coming."

"Indeed."

"You aren't gonna miss me showing up at odd hours, are you?"

The question caught Snape off guard and he'd sooner have admitted to missing Potter than admit that he's not prepared to answer it. He wouldn't miss the intrusion of his privacy inside the only place he now owned, that much was clear.

"Hmph. Thank you for your help, Mister Potter," he said, assuming a formal tone.

"It's OK," Potter grinned. "Only fair. Um. Well, I'd best be going."

"The Floo powder is right where you left it last." Snape gestured toward the mantel. At least Potter had stopped setting the jar down on a different surface every time he visited and searching for it all over again when it was the time to leave. If Snape didn't know better, he'd've thought it all a deliberate plot to stall Potter's departure, but who in their right mind would spend more time than necessary at Spinner's End?

"Good night."

"Good night."

"Grimmauld Place," Potter said and the emerald flames flared around him, removing him from Snape's sitting room.

The warm sensation of Potter's presence lingered after he left, long after the leftover heat from the Floo flare had faded. It's as if Potter's warm friendly tones still echoed among these dreary walls. Snape couldn't get the picture of Potter's eager grin out of his mind until the pup yelped and jumped on the old sofa in all the excitement.

"Down, boy." Snape commanded, and the dog scrambled across the floor, barking wildly, and crumpling up the threadbare rug into a messy heap in the corner.

"Kitchen! Now!" Snape barked and pointed and the pup dragged himself over there, paws heavy and head hung low. "Unless you'd rather not eat? I don't blame you. Who'd want all that beef liver?" With what little supplies he had, it felt right to offer a feast fit for the king to someone, especially someone who appreciated it. Not that his only source of income, Hogwarts pension, had allowed for many extravagant meals.

The pup yelped in indignation, planting himself right by his bowl and releasing an expectant whine.

"Thought so."

Dogs were easier to keep than people. They weren't likely to run screaming into the night after casting one look at Snape's current life and circumstance. People, and Potter in particular, were a different matter.

Snape ate dinner in the dubious comfort of his own empty kitchen, right at the counter: beans on toast for himself, browned liver for the stray. As he washed his plate afterwards, he reassured himself he wasn't annoyed by Potter's refusal. The dinner invitation had been politeness, nothing more.

It's not as if he had enough food to waste, with one more hungry mouth to feed.

* * *

Cokeworth hadn't changed over the years. Although broken buildings had given way to storage or car parks, and tarmac now covered the narrow streets. A wider network of cracks stretched across the footpaths at Spinner's End. The brick houses aged, crumbling in abandonment. An immense mill chimney still rose like a monument to Snape's childhood. The narrow river, a short walk from Spinner's End, stayed the same, dirty and shallow, treacle-slow and littered with wrappings, just like it was in the summery days of Severus' long-lost childhood.

Snape allowed himself one lazy stretch under the afternoon sun and looked around. The river's edge housed all kinds of rubbish, old and new, as Muggle as only Cokeworth's discarded waste could be. Its iced-over sides glistened, but in the middle the murky water slithered slow and steady like a large silvery serpent, amid the plastic and the tyres and the shards of glass.

Snape had disconnected the leash from the stray's new collar (a dragonhide glove which had lost its companion long ago had come in useful, transfigured into a new shape). The dog sniffed the ground, absorbing all the new smells, and leaving a few of his own. He stuck his nose in every fish-and-chips wrapping, licking the inside as if it was a rare treat. 

Snape let himself breathe deeper as the dog paused, preoccupied with yet another find. The smog by the riverside, the fishy, bitter stench wafting up from the water, was the same. As unpleasant as it was, it still smelled of freedom to Snape: somewhere along these shores, ages ago, young Lily and Severus roamed together once.

Something rustled in the nearby bushes. The stray barked and went after it, awkward paws sliding through the slushy snow. Snape frowned at the thought of having to heal a paw sliced on a broken bottle and lifted his wand, banishing the worst of the rubbish below them. As he cast the spell, birds scattered from the underbrush in response to his magic. The plastic shrivelled and winked out of existence, the tyres shrank and melted like shadows at noon, the shiny glass shards grew dull in the riverside mud and disappeared. The spell itself was common as dirt, but a complicated one at this wide of a range, and Snape sighed with a sense of accomplishment afterwards. 

How ironic it was that these days, an uncomplicated piece of spell work over some Muggle rubbish passed as an accomplishment in Snape's life.

He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up. But that helped no more than it helped him as a lonely firstie from the wrong side of town, wrong town altogether, as he tried to mimic Lucius Malfoy's stride and tone. That grinding insecurity of his upbringing still followed him through life whenever he went. He had done his best to contain it. He allowed his mouth to twist in the familiar scowl of the young Hogwarts professor, the formidable kind that warded off the questions and the stares. Even without his flowing teaching robes and cloak, far away from Hogwarts corridors, it still did wonders for chasing away his fears. 

Snape had tried to shred his Muggleness, the squalor, the dirt of Cokeworth and run from it all his life. Putting on a more distinguished face, wasn't that his entire life's mission? But for what? Once again, he's found himself here. Right here. Perhaps it's where he was meant to end up all along. Cokeworth hadn't changed over the years, but this place of his childhood memories still could be given a second chance. 

Lily's memory deserved nothing less.

There was a pop of Apparation behind him and for a second, Snape stilled, wand at the ready, an attack curse of his own making right on the tip of his tongue.

"Er, hi!" said Potter, waving.

"Have you lost your mind?" Snape snapped. "Do you want an injury?"

"You weren't at home when I called, so, um, the protocol says to locate and apprehend, so, yeah. Here I am. Where's your... oh, there you are, boy!"

The pup leapt over the bushes and caught up to Potter in three strides, pouncing and planting great muddy paws all over those pristine, starched Auror robes. Serves him right, Snape thought with a vicious sense of satisfaction, though Potter didn't seem to mind the paw prints.

He counted to five until the enthusiastic slobbering had punished Potter sufficiently. "Down, boy."

The stray panted, delirious, and stuck his nose right against Potter's crotch. 

"Oh you've sniffed it out, ha, stop that, it tickles. Hang on then, yes, that's for you, three cheese biscuits, coming up."

Snape observed the spectacle, biting on the inside of his cheeks to keep from smiling. _It won't do to show approval so openly when thinking about any of the contents of Potter's trousers._

The greedy beast inhaled the offering before Potter even finished taking it out of his pocket and slobbered all over his empty hands for more. _Ha! That's what he gets for trying to bribe someone else's familiar._

Potter, more frazzled than usual, but twice as enthusiastic, rubbed the floppy ears to distract the pup and then stepped toward Snape. He favoured his left leg as he walked.

"Look, he has more treats for you!"

The pup tilted one ear up and released a curious yelp.

"He does! You tell him!"

Snape arched one eyebrow. "Sit! Now."

The pup bounced and spun around twice, barking, but did not lunge at Snape. It was a start.

"You know better than to trust the words of a Ministry official," Snape informed the dog.

"Oi!" Potter stepped closer. Something was clearly wrong with his leg.

"What happened?" Snape motioned at the young man's knee.

"Oh, that? Just a Stunner. Um, Ron's aim was off during practice. I'll walk it off."

"You'll do no such thing. Keep off it until morning." He snapped his fingers to call the dog to him and reattached the leash to the stray's collar.

"S'fine." Potter snorted. "Second one was worse if you ask me, rebound and hit me right on the head. Wham!" He gestured for emphasis and then scratched the back of his neck.

Snape peered at Potter's eyes. The pupils were dilated, with a ring of thin green around them.

"Is the Ministry trying to take all of you out before you're fit to serve the public? You shouldn't be Apparating on your own in your state! Come."

Snape offered a hand and Potter looked unsure at first before stepping up and sliding a bold hand over Snape's shoulder.

Snape shivered, tightened his hold over both the dog's collar and Potter himself. Potter turned out to be taller than he remembered, Snape noted, as they Disapparated.

In a dizzying rush, they ended up in a dark corner of the Leaky Cauldron, right by the public Floo, a common place to meet or part, crowded just enough to keep the onlookers from paying too much attention. The stray whined sullenly and pressed himself against Snape's side, his front paws scratching at the wooden floorboards as if trying to find their hold on the solid ground. Potter didn't break his accidental embrace, and his eyes were dark and solemn.

"Thanks." Potter's voice was deep, his tone gentle.

"It's nothing," Snape steadied him, the dog between them. "Try to keep yourself safe from your coworkers next time. I know it's a challenge, considering the common sense of your average Auror."

"I will." Potter beamed, letting go of Snape, but not stepping away.

Snape let his mind focus on his destination, this time taking himself and his dog into his own sitting room.

The sensation of Potter's hand on Snape's shoulder lingered long after they parted without a goodbye. The hard muscle of deceptively thin shoulders, the subtle curve of Potter's back under Snape's steadying hand, and the flat chest pressed against Snape's side...

* * *

Snape's bedroom was the same modest room he occupied as a child. It was only prudent to turn his parents' larger room next door into a makeshift laboratory. 

The memory of Potter's fit form didn't leave Snape's mind as his head hit the pillow. A week's worth of visits meant two more instances of Potter's head sticking out of Snape's fireplace. Perhaps even the entire Potter present in Snape's sitting room. After that, he'd be free. He'd be able to disconnect the fireplace from the Floo network, add more magical protections to his home, so no one would ever find it again, wouldn't even think of looking. _And Potter? Well, why would he look? It's a job to him, just a menial task. He'll move onto a more suitable task and forget these visits. What's there to remember?_ Snape stirred, turned right and left, and pushed the blanket off him. Then, there was a suspicious rustle of a sliding bookshelf, the mournful squeak of the staircase under the lighter-than-human weight, one cautious whine, and the steady patter of heavy, padded paws interrupting the silence.

_Clever dog. Too clever._

The stray sniffed and approached, his bright eyes glowing in the gloom of Snape's bedroom.

"What do you want? You're far too large to sleep here," Snape pointed out. The creature was the size of a small bear cub. "This has always been a bed for one." But the dog spun around, once, twice, and settled down, despite the warning. He nudged his way to Snape's blankets hanging off the foot of the bed and curled up there, on the floor, as if he belonged here all along, the stubborn stray.

As if the entire world belonged to him, including this ragged, crumbling part of it. As if the worn-down surroundings hardly mattered in the end.

_Ridiculous cur. Just goes to show the common sense of your average dog leaves much to be desired._

* * *

The riverbank was much wider and colder than it usually was. Instead of Muggle rubbish, it was all ice, a grey slushy surface for miles and miles.

There was no one, not a single soul around to break the greying monotony. And that was rather disturbing.

The pup's walk obviously brought Snape to the river, but no one was in sight. Not even the stray. Where could a dog his size have gone?

Brutal wind ripped at his cloak. The chill of it burnt his face and made him gasp for breath. His limbs were heavy, frozen and far too exhausted to keep moving.

Snape walked on faster, thinking of yelling out in desperation, then realising with a sense of utter dread he had no words that would make the dog listen to him. He hadn't even given the stray a name.

He broke into a run, but it was futile. The landscape stretched for hours, along the snaking river. It was empty, echoing, bitter-cold as only a winter in Cokeworth could be.

Snape awoke covered in cold sweat. "Tempus!"

The familiar spell showed one minute 'til six, and the charm pulsed, marking the countdown of seconds: fifty-eight, fifty-nine.

A cold wet nose nudged Snape's hand at six sharp, prompt as an alarm clock.

Snape sighed with something akin to relief and closed his fingers over the warm muzzle. The damp breath warmed his palm, bristly whiskers tickled his finger pads.

* * *

After a hearty breakfast of oatmeal for himself and the leftover beef liver for the stray, Snape called up the pup to the sitting room. _Might as well make it official._ "If you're staying around, you must make yourself useful," he cautioned.

The pup panted with joy, his tail beating vigorously against the floorboards, stirring up the dust.

"Hm, I suppose you will need a proper name if you are to guard this house one day." _With paws like that, it's clear he'll grow up to be a proper guard dog to scare off the worst of the intruders. He's going outside on a leash as soon as it's warm and he is old enough to handle the responsibility,_ Snape promised to himself. There, that made sense, _a suitable guard dog to keep the Muggles at bay, and nothing more._

The stray lifted one soft furry ear.

"Grim," Snape stated, and the dog yelped once and that was settled at least.

He reached out and swept the back of his hand across the cold nose. A warm, wet tongue brushed once against his fingertips. Well then, Grim will do.

At least the pup had enough sense to recognise the hand that fed him.

To go along with the solemnity of the situation, Snape transfigured the torn towel by the stove into something much softer, resembling a dog bed.

Perhaps that would persuade the stray to sleep where he was meant to, without random invasions into Snape's private spaces. He cast a quick cleaning charm on the stove while he was at it. It was far too grimy to be welcoming, especially for someone with a nose as sensitive as an average dog's.

Grim had observed the commotion calmly, supervising Snape's efforts from Snape's own (and only) armchair by the fireplace in the sitting room.

"Hmph!" Snape stated his opinion. "Get down from there."

He cast the cleaning charm to banish the stray dog hair off the seat afterwards. And then, in the spirit of improvement, followed it up with a mild transfiguration spell. The old armchair was tough on his back and he had kept forgetting to adjust it for months now.

* * *

Potter returned two days later, with a generous helping of cheese biscuits for Snape's familiar. He emerged from the fireplace to joyful barking. Snape regarded the spectacle with the pragmatism it deserved: at least Grim was doing his job of alerting Snape to any, though in this case not entirely unwelcome, visitors.

"Quiet, Grim!" Snape cautioned, allowing the spectacle to continue.

Potter's eyebrows crawled high enough to disappear under his fringe. "You named him _what_?" He grimaced. "Ew. Seriously?"

Snape arched his eyebrow. "I don't see how it's any of your business."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Could have been worse I suppose. You could've called him Fluffy."

"Not enough teeth. Or heads. Though, he's a right hellhound already."

The door to the kitchen was ajar and Snape had flicked his wand at it to close it off. It was a habit, and he remembered Mother doing the same, hiding the piles of dirty dishes in the sink and the ugly sacks of rice or potatoes in the far corner from an occasional visitor.

The bookshelves lining the sitting room concealed a multitude of flaws, mundane and mediocre. It was fortunate that Grim had barked that exact moment, to distract Potter from Snape's frantic actions.

The second flick of his wand, and the lamp flared to life, casting deep, sombre shadows across the entire room.

"Um, don't take this the wrong way; your library," Potter said with a distracted stare, "it's um, really something. Like being trapped in the Restricted Section."

Snape arched his eyebrow.

"That's a good thing!" Potter insisted.

"Am I to believe you've cracked a single book open since your N.E.W.T.s?" Snape inquired with a suspicious tone. "Well, well, talk about hidden depths, Mis-ter Potter."

"You've no idea!" the brat declared proudly.

"Enlighten me."

"Well, there's always _Magical Me_ by Gilderoy Lockhart. No?"

"Potter." 

"OK then. Not a fan are you? Well then, _Travels with Trolls_? _Year with the Yeti_? Right, ok, kidding. I wouldn't touch those even if you paid me to read them, I swear."

Snape winced and waved at the Floo. "Out," he commanded. "Make it quick."

"See you soon, Professor. Oh, don't look so put out. One more visit and you are free."

"What?"

He remembered how Potter had looked back and grinned at him, before the Floo flared green and bright and he was alone in the house once more, if you didn't count Grim.

He'd wondered what books Potter was actually reading. Grimmauld Place contained a legendary library of its own. Perhaps some books at least had found a new reader. He'd seen it only once, with Regulus Black, and the tall ceilings and the ornate halls made Snape feel out of place, made him square his shoulders and lift his chin. Made him eager to conceal Da's rough tones from his voice. Forced Snape to fight tooth and nail to belong in that world, just to survive.

It was not disappointing to see that Potter had obeyed his command to leave so swiftly, he told himself. It's not as if Snape craved company this evening. No, it was best if Potter stayed far, far away, just like any other sensible visitor in Snape's sitting room who had been lucky to escape unhexed.

* * *

_'Mysterious Tryst or Tragic Breakup? Will the Wizarding World's Most Famous Bachelor Reveal What's in His Heart?'_ the _Daily Prophet's_ headline proclaimed, showing a frustrated Harry Potter. It was an older picture by a few months at least. The man who appeared in Snape's Floo from week to week had a longer fringe, and much deeper shadows under his eyes and over his jaw.

 _'Falling for the Sensitive Type: Holyhead Harpies' Youngest Chaser Spotted in the Company of Local Artist'_ , the _Daily Prophet_ page three said. The picture showed Dean Thomas offering his arm to Molly Weasley's girl by Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. She seemed impressed enough to give him a slow, sunny smile. Snape turned the page and folded it, so the adverts were on the outside, covering any articles of Potter or his acquaintances. _The less Potter sees of such nonsense, the better off he'd be._

To prepare for Potter's visit, Snape had closed shut the kitchen door, and made sure that the entryway leading to the upstairs rooms was concealed by the bookshelves. It was his usual routine when receiving important guests. What a disaster it would be for a rare visitor to spot the Muggle grime of the kitchen or worse yet, wander off up the stairs through the narrow, dusty, book-lined passage and see all the cluttered, dirty corners Snape had hidden from the rest of the world for so long.

Snape's worries turned out to be pointless so far. As the view of Spinner's End outside his window turned pitch dark, the fireplace remained still and silent, free of Potter's presence.

The only official thing about Potter's final visit was that Potter was now officially late. Extremely so. Several hours passed, as the large rusty dial of a clock on his mantel showed.

Snape was not concerned, he was only pacing from one narrow wall to another, navigating between his armchair and the rickety table with ease. The pacing was a habit, an old one, something Severus did when Da wasn't around. _"Will you stop wearing out the floorboards, Severus? Best go upstairs before he gets home."_ He stilled for a second as the clock struck eight, his gaze drifting over the items above the fireplace. It rested not on Granddad's old clock, but on the empty spots in between, filled with dust. _Bloody stupid of me to expect him to show up. He probably won't even come, it's not like he'll get in trouble for skipping the last official trip he has to make here. Knowing the Ministry, they'll send a paper-pusher a month later to wrap things up._

The clock ticked ominously, with little regard for Potter's absence.

 _What if something's wrong?_ Snape stared at the clock suspiciously, then turned it so it aligned with the mantel's edge. _What if one of those practice sessions of his has gone even worse than before? The Aurors clearly fail to teach basic safety to their trainees._

 _Enough of that. I'm being paranoid._ Snape tried to distract himself by applying an absent-minded cleaning charm to the mantel contents. Then to the mirror. Then to the corner bookshelves. The rickety table groaned when it was hit with Reparo. The threadbare sofa lost its worn spots, turning dark enough for the clumps of black fur to blend into it. A second later, Snape banished the dog hairs, too.

At least doing chores was more productive than idle waiting.

He paced again, contemplating sending a Patronus with a message. _Not yet. Another few minutes._

At last, a frazzled face appeared in the flames. "I'm so sorry! Argh!" 

"What's wrong?"

"Don't ask," Potter groaned. "Had to stay late at the office. Paperwork's due. An entire month's worth. All at once! What kind of sadistic sod makes up these deadlines?"

Snape thought of Potter's rushed Potions homework scribbles. _He left it until the last moment! I pity his supervisor._

"You're welcome to come through," Snape gestured. He hoped Potter would. After all this trouble waiting for him, it was the least he could do.

A second later, Potter's lean form fit through the fireplace. Snape refused to look pleased about it, even though the flash of Potter's smile was a sight for sore eyes.

Potter took his time taking down the tracking charms: in the sitting room, over the kitchen doorway, by the front door. As his final task, he cast a quick Finite Incantatem on Snape's wand.

"Um, so, I guess that's it," he said. "You'll be fine on your own, I trust?"

Snape responded with an arched eyebrow.

Potter sighed. "OK then. My job here is done."

"Indeed."

"Actually, wait a second, I've got something..."

"Hm?"

Potter beamed, dug into his chest pocket and presented Snape with a mysterious parcel. Sticking Charms didn't hold the festive wrapping paper together, and it came apart under Snape's touch.

"What's this?" Snape asked, and if a hint of doubt showed in his voice, well, Potter earned it.

"It's for you," Potter announced. "Go on, open it!"

The teacup within was a thin and fragile thing. Plain white, with a chipped edge and a dainty twist to the handle. Snape turned it over and stared at the tea leaves at the bottom, clumped together and suspended under a Stasis charm.

"So, the story is, I've been getting these in my tea now and then, ever since Professor Trelawney's class. Just goes to show that Divination is crap. Er, anyway, you can have this one."

The leftover sludge at the bottom of the cup formed the distinct shape of a large dog: the muzzle, the ears, and the long curly tail. Loose tea leaves served as the clumps of dark fur. _Grim._

"Perfect likeness, don't you think?" Potter grinned. "Look, he's even smiling."

"Thank you." Snape reached out and set the death omen in a teacup onto the better-lit spot on the mantel, between the clock and the jar of Floo powder. "I appreciate the thought."

Potter grinned wide, likely assuming that Snape, as your average pet owner, would enjoy a simple trinket just because it reminded him of his familiar. No, nothing so mundane. The cup was proof that Potter was not invincible, and a reminder to investigate all the threats to Potter's life, and then do everything possible to prevent them.

Snape has done the job for so long, it had become a habit.

"I should go..." Potter murmured behind his back.

"It is getting late," Snape mused, not minding the time.

"Um, can I come and visit Grim sometime?" Potter spoke just as Snape asked softly, "Would you like something to drink?"

Their eyes met. Potter gave a shy smile and Snape found his own lips twitching in amusement. "To celebrate my freedom," Snape clarified. "And Grim's newfound human pest."

Potter's grin widened, and he nodded.

"Wine?"

"Anything's good."

"Accio nettle wine." Square black bottle topped by a trailing cobweb flew to Snape's grasp from the kitchen. He marked the milestone of Ministry tracking spells being lifted with a cautious wandless Accio. Two wine glasses floated past him, light as soap bubbles.

Potter lifted his hand and plucked one glass out of the air, as precise as only a Seeker could be. Snape left his own glass floating as he applied a brutal corkscrew hex to the cork, followed up by a cold air charm to aerate the contents before pouring out a generous dose into Potter's glass.

The soft blue liquid swirled as he touched the rim of his glass to Potter's matching one. "To freedom."

"To pests!" Potter countered. 

At his side, Grim barked.

As he looked at Potter, he was surprised by an impossible sight. It couldn't have been the wine, which wasn't that potent, but Potter's stare seemed so warm, warm and inviting. _He's survived the impossible odds and has grown into a remarkable young man,_ the thought struck Snape, unexpected as the lightning. Not someone Snape could call a friend, like Lily. Not someone he wanted to hex to tiny pieces, like James Potter. _Someone different. Perhaps even someone worth the world's admiration._

They settled into their respective seats, Snape in the armchair and Potter in the corner of the sofa, not so threadbare this time around. The fireplace crackled by their side, its flames stoked by Snape's spell. It was almost comfortable to share this quiet moment with Potter.

"May I ask you something?" Snape inquired, taking a chance, as he poured Potter his second glass in the room lit by the fireplace embers and the flickering candle lamp. 

"Yes? Anything."

"Why did you help me?"

"'Cause it's the right thing to do, innit?" Potter shrugged.

"You didn't have to."

Potter stared at him, a question in his eye. "How can you even say that?"

Snape looked down, considering the drink in his hands. "I expected nothing from you."

Potter pushed his fringe up, a nervous habit. "Are you serious? It was the least I could do! It's a miracle you survived as it is. Besides," he took another gulp of wine. "We've lost so many people 'cause of the bloody war. Too many! I didn't want to lose you, too."

There was a shadow over Potter's jaw that made him look decades older, older than his parents had ever been. Snape searched for something, anything, to say to offer comfort. "Some say the dead never leave us. Not if we remember them."

Potter smiled. "I've heard something like this too. Long ago. Must be true. Your Patronus and mine are proof of that."

There wasn't much Snape could say to that, though he ached to point out all the ways their situations were different. It would help neither of them to voice such thoughts. "To memories," Snape toasted instead, and they drank in comfortable silence.

The fireplace provided more light than a dim lamp hanging by the bookshelves. Grim napped on the rug in the corner, letting out a light snore now and then. Once in a while, his paws and his muzzle twitched. Perhaps he was dreaming of chasing a juicy rabbit on the riverbank.

Potter was a chatty drunk, and not a happy one either.

"I don't get it, any of it," Potter grumbled into his glass, halfway through it, as he stared at the stack of the _Daily Prophets_ by Snape's chair, the top one folded over the announcements section. Snape thanked his good sense of hiding the recent headlines.

"Anything in particular?" Snape inquired, nursing his own drink, having only taken a sip.

"Everyone's getting married, starting families. Well, not always in that order, sometimes they start families and then get married! Anyway, even you." Potter gestured with his glass in Snape's direction, barely avoiding spilling the rest of it. "Look, you have a dog!" He stared at Grim as if Grim had all the answers. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Snape prompted.

"Move on. From everything that happened," Potter exclaimed and then added, softer, "Gin always wondered that too, before we... well, that's old news by now. She used to ask, and I didn't have an answer for her. I had no excuses, even to myself. And then I started wondering maybe there are others like me, who survived, who may have had trouble moving on. How did you just... let go? I can't even replace Hedwig." 

Snape had asked himself that question before and concluded that some questions have no good answers. He toasted the fire with his half-filled glass, admitting to alcohol being his vice if not the solution. "It's not about replacing anyone, that's impossible." The glass he was holding was ghostly white, the exact colour of a Patronus. He chased away any thoughts of Lily with a stubborn shake of his head, offering Potter something else instead. "Since you're so eager to claim a familiar, you can always take Grim out for a walk. He likes you."

"Ha, he likes everyone, even you!"

"Of course he does. I feed him."

Grim barked at that, awake again, as if to remind Snape that supper was important. Snape called him up from the rug in the corner and steered him closer to Potter's side.

Humans were odd creatures that way, it was far easier for them to pet a dog's ear than to accept a human hand helping, Snape knew, from personal experience.

"Few people know how important memories are, that's for sure," Potter ranted later, skin and stare warmed up by the drink. "You know, an' I know. That's rare. Thank you!"

"For what?" 

"I have memories of Mum 'cause of you." 

"Oh." Snape's fingers squeezed the thin-sided wine glass. He wondered how it would be to grow up without a single memory of Mother in his life. Memories of Mum were everywhere in this house still. From the Muggle tools she used when her magic wore thin after Father's nagging, to the kitchen cupboards. That stubborn Undetectable Extension Charm that Mum, an older, widowed witch in her full power once again, had cast to keep the cupboards twice as deep, had held all this time, weaker, but there. The crows she used to feed still called from the rooftop from time to time, and the new trinkets tucked against the window frames must've been left there by the shrewd birds deliberately, for her. A pair of glimmering gobstones still sat on the windowsill of Snape's bedroom. Potter had none of that. How would it feel to have so few mementoes of someone that every single one was a precious treasure?

Like a glimpse of that deep green stare. Like a scrap of a letter. _Love, Lily._

There was so much Snape could say in response to Potter's confession. But nothing needed to be said, so instead he listened.

"I've had Dad's stag 'course, and lots of people who knew them told me how proud they'd be of me, but that's not the same. Not even close." Potter stilled and then his eyes met Snape's, sparkling with curiosity and something else, something warm and deep and true. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go on."

"Did you love her?" Potter's eyes held nothing but genuine interest. It must have been their warmth that kept Snape from ending the conversation immediately.

"Of course," Snape answered: soft, careful. "She was my friend."

They moved on to whisky after that. Potter smiled and took in every word Snape offered him so Snape kept on talking, about the winding walk to Lily's childhood home, about the long-gone playground where Snape had watched magic happen, about long, lazy summers Snape spent escaping from Da's wrath and Mum's sniping at the riverbank with his only friend. About the rare sighting of deer grazing across the river, the image of the doe and her two fawns, as elegant and surreal as a fairytale vision.

Snape peered at his visitor and had to catch the empty glass before it toppled from Potter's loose hold. A sleepy stare met his.

"I'm glad it's you who has her. She's magnificent."

 _The doe,_ Snape realised. _He's talking about my Patronus._

An unsteady hand brushed against Snape's and squeezed. "Thanks. For remembering her."

'It's nothing,' Snape didn't say, because it wasn't 'nothing' at all. Remembering Lily came to him as instinctual as breathing. Even now, after all these years, he merely allowed himself to stop fighting the rush of memories and the answering wave of sorrow and held on for the ride.

Perhaps the whisky was a bad idea because soon enough Potter was sluggish and sleepy on Snape's sofa. Snape plucked the glasses from his nose. Grim ambled closer, giving the sleeping brat a curious sniff, then jumped right beside him with all the grace of a small bear, making space for himself. Potter's arm slid over the black fur, and embraced the pup, in a warm and safe hold, with all the intensity of a young man who missed out on having a dog growing up.

 _Hugs like that ought to be appreciated when one is in full control of their senses,_ thought Snape as he drew a blanket over them both. 

Not that Snape was an expert in hugging anyone.

He left the whisky bottle on the table, in case Potter was a believer in the hair of the dog remedies on the morning after. _He'll have plenty of actual dog hair all over him, to go with that hangover._ Snape gave it a second thought and cast Aguamenti over Potter's empty glass, and Grim's water bowl in the kitchen, as was his usual routine. He even let the kitchen door ajar, just wide enough to let the dog through.

Afterwards, with a pang of his heart, Snape forced himself to retreat upstairs into a cold bed which had no hairy, wandering visitors. He already missed the atmosphere of his sitting room, almost comfortable now that the worst of the dust and grime was gone. His mind produced the image of the glowing fireplace embers, the creaky sofa, the sprawled shaggy pair on it.

In the morning, Potter left before Snape came down, only the emptied glass remained. Grim presided over Snape's sofa, licking his haunches, with all the confidence of a Bad Dog in the making.

"We ought to have a word about you bringing strange young men into my house," Snape grumbled, casting Grim the look he reserved for misbehaving students.

Grim gave him a blank look and then sneezed with gusto.

"At least take him out to dinner first. It's only proper."

Grim responded with a wide yawn, stating his opinion of that idea.

"Impossible cur, get down from there! Do you want breakfast or not?"

Grim's head tilted as he panted.

"Well then, poached or scrambled?"

Grim barked: once, twice.

"Are you certain?"

Grim wagged his tail and let out a sharp yelp.

"I see. Come along."

* * *

Grim barked as he raced Potter across the street, paws striking the cobblestones, a thin string of drool dangling from his muzzle. Snape's lips curled into a small grin as he watched.

"Still can't believe you called him Grim." Potter gulped for air, crouching, with his arms braced over his knees.

"Why not?"

"He is the happiest hound in the entire world. Look, the only prey he is able to catch is his own tail. He'd sooner slobber you to death than maul you."

"Hmph. His drool counts as a death omen."

"It counts as something, all right," Potter grinned.

"Pity it's of no use as a potions ingredient," Snape sighed. "I'd make a fortune. A dog's tongue, on the other hand..." Mum used to keep her supply in the bottom cupboard right next to a jar full of pickled newt eyes, cotton cloth over both lids, tied with an old-fashioned ribbon of a fenny snake skin. Snape's own supply of hell-broth ingredients had no such frivolous decorations. In fact, he had moved his jars onto the top shelf, away from Grim's delicate nose and far more delicate sensibilities.

Fresh snow fell overnight and turned Cokeworth bright and pristine, hiding every flaw and every single coal stain beneath an inch of its fluffy cover. Despite all the brightness, a wary unease struck Snape now and then in Potter's now-frequent presence, a dreadful and dull ache, as if a fragile cup with Grim in it on his mantel contained a slow acting poison. Potter had mentioned seeing several of these already. _Was this a recent development?_ He seemed dismissive of it all. But what if this was an omen, a dire warning that Snape had one chance to remedy?

There was nothing to be done about it, not now anyway, not as they walked toward the river, as far away from any bad omens as one could get, except Grim himself, and that drool-covered calamity didn't count.

"Can I have it? Please? Let me try."

"Hmph. What makes you think you can handle him after you wound him up chasing sticks?"

"Oh, come on, he's practically walking himself."

As if agreeing with that assessment, Grim growled, bit down on his leash and yanked at it once, to prove a point.

Snape led Grim along the riverbank as Potter followed along, their muddy tracks the only smudge across the sea of white. Grim ran circles around them, a twirling shadow amid the unexpected brightness to complement Snape's own, barking and coughing now and then when the snow hit his nose.

During one slow turn of the footpath, Grim's long leash wrapped around both pairs of knobby knees, pushing Potter close to him, far too close for comfort.

"Grim, no!" Snape commanded.

"Oh, sorry," Potter said, failing to untangle himself. His breath escaped his lips in a steamy puff and left Snape mesmerised. Potter steadied himself with a casual hand over Snape's shoulder and grinned up at him. His eyes were so dazzling among all the dull greys of the riverbank.

Snape was not at all in a hurry to free himself either and found himself caught in Potter's stare. The vulnerability of it, the open trust. It held all the things that didn't need Legilimency to discover them.

A pair of snowflakes caught on the inside of Potter's glasses.

Snape released the leash and lifted his hands to Potter's face to take the glasses off. He used his handkerchief to wipe the worst of the snow off the lenses, caught in the simple repetitive motion. Potter's hands rose to his, and he stilled.

"Severus?"

There was a question in there, somewhere. Potter's lips parted. 

Slowly, steadily, Snape set the pair of glasses over Potter's striking stare. "You may need another pair," he murmured. "There's something wrong with these." 

Untangling himself from that warm hold was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. He collected Grim's leash with the jerky unease of a doomed man, denying himself his last meal. 

Grim tilted his head at Snape and let out a confused yelp. _You and I both,_ Snape thought, for he had no explanations either.

Perhaps some things, like grief or memories, were best buried deep and never brought up again.

* * *

Tea with Potter was not a calm experience: the sense of terrible wrongness had never let go of Snape completely, and many worries went through his mind. Potter, however, was cheerful and far too alert. He chatted on just to fill the silence.

"I thought being an Auror would be dramatic and fun. Can you believe it? It's all about sitting around, which makes even an occasional patrol duty sound exciting."

 _None of us are calm today,_ Snape thought. It's as if a plucked guitar string had rumbled with tension on the back of his mind, ready to snap. _Not even Grim. And no wonder, his walk ended early._ He sipped his tea and let the hot liquid wash down his throat. 

"... and don't get me started on all the reports. Why did no one warn me about the paperwork? So much paperwork!"

Snape rolled his eyes. "I'd think it would be obvious to anyone with a modicum of common sense, but apparently that leaves out your average Auror."

"Oi!"

"What? Or do you prefer I flatter you as you neglect your duties?"

"That's it," Potter raised his hand to his forehead and released a theatrical groan. "I'm done. I want to be a dog in my next life!"

Grim barked quizzically, lifting his head from his newest chew toy: Da's old boot. Its twin served as a leaping toadstool planter out back since Mum had set it down filled to the brim with mud one summer. "Waste not," she had said with pragmatism and Snape had wondered what was in that soil. It must've been ten years since she died, but the toadstools remained as long as Snape renewed the watering charms. They shared a morbid sense of humour, Mum and him. She would have approved of the other boot's use, and of Grim's name. She, with her unconventional tastes in pots of every kind, would not have approved of Potter. Too Gryffindor. Too Auror. Shiny and wholesome as a brand new knut. Cringeworthy.

"Yes, you," Potter carried on the one-sided conversation with the dog. "You've got it made here, you know. The treats, the walks, not to mention all the belly rubs."

Grim panted, as happy as if his belly had just been scratched.

Snape hmphed. "Jealous?"

"... and daytime naps on top of it all." Harry scraped a clump of shaggy black fur from the sofa pillow. "Imagine a room and a sofa all to yourself. Heaven!"

Snape scoffed at the thought of anyone's personal heaven being Cokeworth of all places, and Spinner's End in particular. Considering just how much of a personal hell the place had been for him growing up. But he shared none of his musings aloud, instead he set his tea down on the table and drew himself to full height. "Fascinating as your philosophical dilemma might seem, not all of us should sleep the day away. Go. Take him back to the river, tire him out. A stroll outside might do you both some good."

Grim wagged his tail at that, and he spun around with an enthusiastic bark, impersonating a small whirlwind. He stopped and cast a hopeful stare at the dog leash.

"Sure? Well, all right then. Come on, Grim, let's go see how much it has snowed!" Potter clapped, prompting a cheerful series of barks out of Grim, and reached up to grab the leash where it rested on the back of Snape's chair. His hand nearly brushed Snape's forearm as he moved away. The man and the dog both rushed out, tea forgotten.

"Dinner is not until seven," Snape called out, sizing up the carrots and the potatoes in the small sack by the corner, right below Mum's favourite knife rack. He had all the fixings for the pot pies. "Grim, you'll get seconds if you tire him out first."

"Hey!"

A happy bark rang out by the front door. It sounded a lot like a challenge.

As Mum would have pointed out ten times over, something was still wrong. Snape knew what it was. What right did he have, what possible right, to someone so young, so well-known and well-off, and so Potter?

What right did he have to Lily's son? What sort of monster did that make him to even consider the possibility?

There, that was the truth of the matter. The absolute truth. Unescapable. 

Snape reached for Potter's teacup, to wash it, and it's then that the deathly chill struck. His heart froze in his chest, earlier worries forgotten, cast aside for the threat that mattered.

Potter had spoken of these before, but today Snape witnessed it firsthand. A tangible danger in Mum's old teacup, plain to see. In the leftover tea Potter drank before rushing out, was the deadly haunting shape.

_Grim._

It was nothing like Snape's familiar, bigger and looming. As menacing as any unknown threat. _Is Potter ill? Is someone plotting his murder?_

Snape had no idea what he would do if Potter perished. He refused to consider the possibility. A future without Potter was unthinkable. Impossible.

What could he do to stop this? What would make sense to do? Following Potter to work was an absurd but reliable way to protect him from danger, albeit with the side effect of ending up in the morning papers, or worse, Azkaban. Snape couldn't keep Potter safe from every possible threat, but he could cast tracking charms. He could pry every possible detail of his daily existence out of the young man, until something emerged. 

_Maybe a tracking charm would be a good idea._

_Maybe._

Snape's sneakoscopes upstairs could find a new purpose and owner. Perhaps a bezoar or two in Potter's pocket wouldn't go astray either.

All of Snape's suspicions, all the worst case scenarios his mind conjured up, were dreary enough on their own to make the sneakoscopes whistle. 

And that's exactly what they did.

A faint and terrible sound. Though it was something else that broke him out of his reverie. Something important. Snape lifted his head. What is it? Something was wrong. 

A dog's bark.

Just Grim, racing down the street. Was Potter back so soon? Snape hurried to the sitting room and swung the front door open. The sound was far too raw and panicked to emerge from a joyful pup. Grim's leash dragged on the ground, no Potter in sight. 

"Show me!" Snape commanded. He grabbed Grim's collar and Apparated to the riverbank, following the direction of Grim's tracks left in the middle of the snowy street. He looked around, listened. 

All was quiet. 

He knew this turn of the river well. One summer, on a dare from Lily, Snape had jumped in. The water had been deeper than expected. The current beneath, treacherous. He had barely made it out. So now, he rushed toward that exact spot, heart in his throat. The footsteps in the snow, human, mingled with the dog tracks, led down to a steep drop. With dread, Snape looked down. A break in the icy cover opened like a chilling maw. The broken ice edge bared like jagged teeth. 

_Oh no! Harry?_

Snape gripped his wand. No time to waste. Grim let out a frantic bark, confirming his worst fear. They both raced down to the shore. _Down. Right by the water's edge._ He slid down the riverbank, took a step onto the thin ice. It crackled with danger at every step. Didn't matter. Snape lunged and dove right into the gaping black hole. Underneath pure agony stung him with a thousand needles. The cold burned the air out of his lungs. Every part of his body ached in protest, even his skull felt frozen and brittle as the piercing cold reached through his ears and nostrils.

Heavy limbed, he swam, fought to keep his eyes open, a wordless Lumos! at the tip of his wand.

 _There,_ a dark shape, on the river floor. 

_Harry!_

His lungs burned from the lack of air. Snape choked on the heavy, chilling river weight, but only moved faster, fighting the current. He didn't need air to bring them back to the surface, he needed enough, just enough, to keep moving, to reach _right down and-_

As soon as he grabbed hold of a limp body, he gripped and pulled. Mind fading, he wished them both away, somewhere safe and warm. His desperate Apparation placed them right in the middle of his own sitting room. He gasped for breath, retching.

"Tergeo," he croaked, drying out their soggy clothes, and the puddle left by them on the floor. Then came a warming charm, the strongest he ever remembered casting. He didn't bother drawing his wand, just put his arms around Potter in a silent embrace and summoned a force of magic, directing it with his entire body.

 _Breathe, damn you. Breathe!_ Never did Snape wish so desperately for a miracle.

In his arms, Potter jerked. Shifted upwards, panting and coughing. It was a miracle his glasses were still on top of his head, one earpiece tangled in his long fringe. His paleness faded into a healthier pink flush. Potter croaked something, inhaling sharply. He tried to raise his hand to his face. Snape adjusted Potter's glasses and helped him up to the sofa, casting diagnostic charms. 

"You're safe," Snape assured him, running his hands over Potter's body. "You fell. You are safe now."

And Potter was safe. He was. But the horror of the alternative had chilled Snape with all its grim finality as much as the icy river. A different pool of wintery water also flooded his memory. The Forest of Dean. Snape had crouched behind trees under the concealment spell then. No longer Dumbledore's spy but still a spy, he had watched Potter disappear under the dark surface and almost drown. Snape could only stand there, deliberating whether to rush to help and break his cover or... _Let Weasley make it in time,_ he had hoped beyond hope.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Snape roared now, as the memory of that horrible icy current brought urgency to his voice. He stared down at the barely conscious man in his grip. "Another minute and you would have been dead."

"How'd you even find me?" Potter shook his head. "Everything happened so fast."

"Were you pushed?" Snape spared a thought for the attacker and his future painful demise.

"Dunno, I think I fell, hit my head over something. Stupid ice!"

"Stupid is right," Snape spat, narrowing his eyes. The diagnostic charm showed faint magical residue of a Jelly-Brain Jinx and two charms to invoke bad luck at the wrong moment. "Is common sense completely beyond you?" Snape lectured as he swiftly cast the spells to counteract the worst of the damage.

Potter ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Yeah, I get it, I'm an idiot! I don't think I ever want a second dip in that. Brr!"

 _So he doesn't even know what he did wrong!_ "I bet you haven't cast a single counterspell after your practice sections at work. You've gathered enough curse residue over a few months to be a complete magical disaster on legs," Snape chastised him. "You're a magnet for trouble. The omens in your tea should have been your first clue!"

"Oh crap." Potter stared at Snape with a sheepish stare. "Really? Wow. Explains a lot." 

"You can't keep risking yourself for no reason," Snape intoned breathlessly, astonished that the lesson hadn't sunk in after all this time.

"Look, I know! 'S just, I'm an Auror, and the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding world, my life is one entire bloody risk, innit?"

"I'm serious," Snape growled. "You're not invincible."

"Well, if it means I don't have Voldemort's habits of stashing away Horcruxes, that's good, innit?"

 _To hell with the Dark Lord!_ "This isn't a joke. I thought you died!" Snape dug his fingers into Potter's shoulders, fighting the urge to shake the man. "It's not an experience I ever care to repeat. Do you understand?"

Potter stared up at him with a blank expression. 

"I can't lose you." Snape's tone held much more alarm than he meant to show to the world. Potter's eyes widened. "Not on my watch."

"I'm here," Potter breathed. "You haven't lost me. I'm right here." He lifted his hand to Snape's jaw, but stopped at the last second, lowering it to Snape's forearm instead and squeezing.

Snape flinched, pulling back, and took a deep breath, staring at the spectacle of Potter on his sofa.

Grim barked in alarm in the open doorway. He must've realised at last where Snape had disappeared to and made his way home on his own. _Clever dog._ He waddled over, sniffed at Potter, making sure he was all right by pressing his nose against one clenched hand, and then rushed to his water bowl, thirsty beast.

To do something, anything, besides trying to shake sense into Potter, Snape called Grim to him. He disconnected Grim's leash, damp with melted snow, and wound it into tight loops, before putting it away on the mantel and looking back at the impossible young man in his care. "You are not to leave this house until I make sure every inch of you is curse-free."

"Oh?" Potter gulped and spread his arms in what appeared to be an invitation. _Do your worst._ "If you think it'll help." 

"It's obvious that you need all the help you can get." Snape gave him a grim smile, and that was a promise.

A hot cup of tea later produced no gruesome omens, merely tea leaves swirling and settling in no semblance of dark shapes. Snape stilled, his most sensitive sneakoscope still in his hand and held his breath. The sneakoscope was silent. _Promising._ "You are welcome to stay here tonight," he said. "I cannot guarantee you are safe elsewhere and even as it is, I can't protect you."

"Yeah? OK. Though now that I know what's going on, I doubt I'll need protecting," Potter said.

Snape considered the emptied teacup and refilled it again, with plenty of tea leaves for any ominous shapes should they form. "Let me be the judge of that!" he proclaimed.

"I really am OK!" Potter protested.

"'OK'? You nearly died. Are you this ready for it all to end? I'm not!"

Silence met him. Potter, pale and frazzled, was considering his question at last. He shook his head, taking Snape's impromptu lecture to heart. All was not lost. 

"I'm not ready for things to end either," Potter confessed. And for a second it seemed it wasn't just mortal danger he had in mind.

As Snape turned, Potter blocked his way, an odd determination in those green eyes.

As with any invasion of his personal space, even as welcome as this, Snape drew himself upright to his most formidable and forbidding height and waited for Potter to back off.

Potter did not. Instead, Potter's hand slid over his. It forced a shiver out of him.

"'M sorry," Potter said, suddenly cautious, and that alone was suspicious. 

"Don't worry about it."

"I don't know what I was thinking, back when we were at the river. Here you are, grieving Mum, for _years_ , and I'm trying to... It's just, you're here and you're you, and I couldn't help it. I'm so sorry!"

It wasn't Potter's utter sincerity that struck Snape, it was the complete defeat in his stare. That defeat had no business being there, not in Harry Potter's vivid eyes. Not while Snape was around.

"Don't apologise," Snape lectured him. Or would have if it wasn't for Potter's widened eyes, the shock of their eye contact. "Ever. Not for something like this." One thing Snape had learned from his solitary life, from Lily, is that love came in many forms. All of it was worth experiencing.

"Oh?" Potter breathed, and he was far too close, so close that Snape could see his own reflection in Potter's glasses, among the hopeful sparks of green in Potter's attentive stare.

They almost touched. Almost. It was sudden like a lightning bolt. Years had passed since Snape's been touched in the way that counted. The honest contact, warm skin against skin. But not like this. Never like this.

Silence followed. It's as if Potter was still waiting for something from him. It's as if they were both waiting.

"There's no need to be sorry." With an effort, Snape pulled away, until his back hit the bookshelves. His stiff spine pressed against the many rigid book spines, but he did not feel trapped. He was free.

"OK then." Potter advanced with a slight smile. His eyes shone bright with newfound courage. "Can I?" His thumb brushed against Snape's wrist, punctuating the unspoken question.

"What?" Snape narrowed his eyes.

"This," Potter said, ever so unhelpful, licking his lip. "Just this," and then he leaned forward. His hands were far from timid now, framing Snape's jaw, and the easy weight of Potter's body pressing Snape against the shelves was such a welcome sensation, it forced a sigh out of him.

"Ah." Of all the things Potter could have done when reminded of his own mortality, Snape never expected him to choose this, but here he was, warm and solid and real, and alive, in Snape's hold. 

"Yes, Severus," Potter breathed. "I need..."

Snape thought of that deep green stare on the frozen riverbank, and all the need and the desire within, laid bare for all to see, slow coursing and unstoppable as the river itself. A challenge. An offering, one Snape couldn't possibly refuse. And if that made a monster out of him, well, he was used to playing the part of a villain by now.

"I know," he breathed, low and suggestive, "exactly what you need."

He leaned forward, just that bit closer, and sealed his lips over Potter's warm, parted ones, as if sealing his fate with that one frantic move, craving to get even closer to Potter, to get under his skin if he must. He ran his hands over Potter's solid back, pulling him close, and Potter melted then in his embrace, his mouth frantic, his grip almost unbearable in its intensity.

Snape wasn't the desperate sort, he never had been. How could you call being this starved for touch a mere desperation? He ached for Potter, craved him, needed him alive and here and in his arms. It was not desperate, this yearning, it was much more. It was only proper to act on that need here, in the sanctuary of Snape's sitting room, in the safety of his home, with all the defences Potter had slid past, as effortless as a stumbling stray slipping through the open door. In this room the maddening chorus of _'I don't deserve this, I deserve none of it!'_ had quieted down to a dull roar in his ears. His hands shook as he raised them to Potter's face, running his fingers through that dark, feathery hair.

And so, pressed against the dusty bookshelves filled by his childhood hand, Snape kept kissing Harry Potter - madness! - and knew absolution at last, one brief shining moment of inner peace. For that reason, among so many, it was impossible to tear himself away from Potter. Not that Snape ever wanted to. He held onto the wiry, warm body and treasured every gasp, every shiver, every moan. It was so easy to tease a reaction out of him. He ran his hands down the sides, so responsive to his touch, and stilled for a second, enjoying the sight of flushed skin, as Potter tilted his head up, unbuttoned collar revealing his neck.

"Ohgod, please!"

"If you insist." Snape smiled against those warm, parted lips and then nuzzled the tender patch of skin below Potter's earlobe. Harry Potter smelled of long-gone summers, of distant youth, of easy, careless freedom. He was so strikingly human and real, it was intoxicating to have the chance to claim all of it, whole.

"Yeahh," Potter sighed, and it seemed he was as eager as Snape to carry on with this turn of events.

Without much effort, he flipped them so Potter's back was against the bookshelves and Potter, his hair messier than usual, thrust against Snape's thigh as Snape slid it between his parted legs. His shoulder was bare and begging for Snape to put his mouth on it, so Snape did.

"Ohgod," Potter breathed, again, looking undone. "Ohh!"

"Bed?" It was bold of Snape to presume, and the thought of leading Potter up the narrow dusty staircase filled him with quiet unease, but Potter's glasses were askew, his breathing ragged. He gave Snape a desperate stare at the question and pushed him back toward the sofa. They both toppled down, Snape bracing against impact and curling himself around Potter. His hands slid up Potter's bare back, lifting both his shirt and his jumper and crumpling the scratchy fabric around Potter's shoulders.

Potter clearly thought this was a brilliant idea, as he raised himself up and wiggled out of his clothes, emerging from the ordeal bare-chested, messy-haired, directing that intense, naked stare down at Snape. 

_He's still alive and unharmed,_ was Snape's first thought, followed by: _He'll be the death of me._ Snape's hands slid over where Potter's jeans ended and hot flushed skin began. He thrust his hips against that solid weight now pinning him down, and he didn't mind one bit then, because this was a maddening shared rush between the two of them. 

Snape took a chance then, to steady them, pressing a sure hand in the centre of Potter's chest, feeling heat and sinewy muscle and every ragged breath. Potter's fingers wound around his wrist, nudging Snape's hand down, down, down as Snape gladly let him, making short work of Potter's zip, reaching in and taking Potter in hand as Potter gasped and shuddered, propping himself up on his arms over Snape. And what a vision he made, with his pants down and his hard, leaking cock in Snape's sure grip, head thrown back, arching up against the greying backdrop of low, cracked ceiling in Snape's childhood home.

"You're so stunning like this."

Something primal and raw escaped Potter's throat as he thrust into Snape's hold, his hands gripped Snape's forearms, tight enough to bruise.

"How long have you thought about it?"

Potter's skin glowed in the low light. His stare was heavy-lidded and maddening. His thrusts, uneven and rushed and oh. He didn't need to distract himself by trying to take charge, so Snape cupped Potter's balls in one gentle, commanding grip, his other hand setting a slower, more measured pace.

"Once? Twice? Should I say long and hard, hm?"

Snape's gaze pointed out what he meant, as his thumb brushed over the head of Potter's cock. Once and twice. A corkscrew spiral of a snake, coiling and poised to strike.

"Yess," Potter hissed, his movements frantic, a sheen of sweat over that hot skin. "Please!"

There was nothing else left but to then grant Potter what he needed. Exactly what he needed. 

"Look at me," Snape breathed, slowing down the movements of his hand. "Yes, keep looking. Listen to my voice. Only my voice."

"Hng," Potter breathed out. His stare was dark and heavy-lidded, he parted his lips, his breathing frantic. His grip on Snape couldn't have been any harder and his parted thighs shook with the effort to keep his impulsive thrusts shallow.

"Today by the river. You looked at me like that. You wanted me to see." It wasn't a question, never was. Snape moved his hand in a sure grip over that hot flesh, twisting his wrist just so. "You wanted me to do this. And more, so much more."

Potter's eyes widened in understanding, in shock perhaps, or a rush of guilty pleasure, and it worked beyond Snape's wildest expectations. His entire body shook, tense with need.

Snape took in the sight of rapture before him. "And I will. Anything you need." He drew a breath, continuing, low and even, "You thought of this before. Made you hard, made you come, didn't it, thinking of us? With your hand on your cock. Just. Like. This."

It was mesmerising to see Potter undone by pleasure, arching up into Snape's grip, thrusting, pulse by pulse, mouth open in a silent scream, the complete reenactment of what Snape saw in that brilliant green stare, if only for one difference: what he glimpsed in Potter's thoughts was a projected image of Snape himself, overtaken by pleasure. It was only fair, he supposed, to reverse the vision in Potter's head, for completeness' sake.

Potter's full weight was on him as the man collapsed boneless against his chest, trapping Snape's hand between them. Snape slid his free hand over him, holding him close. Their clothes were in complete disarray, Snape's robe draping around them both like a dark bed cover. 

'Freedom', Potter had mentioned once, and is that what Snape deserved? Truly deserved? Freedom to hold someone and to let him in close, let him inside. It had been over a year since the end of the war, since the conclusion of Snape's lonely life's mission, and Snape was alive still. He survived. They both did. Perhaps, they both deserved this small share of personal peace.

Potter nuzzled his way against Snape's neck, his fingers gliding over the buttons on Snape's chest, as if counting them and then giving up. He went straight for Snape's crotch then, resting the weight of his palm there and rubbing his fingers alongside Snape's erection. The buttons of Snape's trousers were an easier task for him than Snape's coat, because he lifted his head and stared at Snape with a daring grin.

"You know what else I was thinking of?"

It was hard to think. Really hard. Because as Snape considered all the possibilities, Potter slid downwards with a determined stare and unfastened Snape's trousers.

"Never thanked you," he murmured. "For watching over me. For saving me. All those years. Not in the way that matters," he breathed. "Properly." And then Potter dove in. When his mouth closed over the head of Snape's cock it became difficult to keep track. The heat of it, the slickness was tantalising, almost unbearable in its intimacy.

A gasp escaped from Snape's throat and from under his lowered lashes he saw the vivid twitch of a smirk on Potter's face. A satisfied sigh burned hot against his sensitive skin.

Snape slid his hands into the feathery mop of hair, cautious, gentle. Holding Potter back as much as nudging him forward. Potter hummed in contentment as his lips closed over the heated flesh and it was better than any fantasy Snape's mind had conjured.

His surroundings faded then, in such blissful, fever-hot moment. Everything was secondary to Potter's mouth, which was capable of several skillful ways of rendering Snape unable to form words, better than Potter's idle chatter ever did.

Potter's grip was sure and strong and his pace quickened with the impatience of the young. Snape gave into the easy rush of it as he surrendered to pleasure at Potter's hands.

He came, arching up against Potter's hold, thrusting into that hot mouth. Potter moved against him, grinning, throwing his arm over Snape's shoulder. Snape's limbs were too heavy with exhaustion to move. His breathing was still ragged. His face burned hot. The room smelled of sex.

Nothing mattered but the bliss of it.

* * *

The sofa had enough space for two grown men if they held each other and didn't mind the tangled limbs. Snape stirred, looking down at the messy-haired head now resting on his shoulder, at the angled limbs heavy with sleep.

"Potter?" Snape called out. _Perhaps he is still asleep?_

"Mm? Really?" Potter stared at him and let out a chuckle, sincere and soft. "Call me Harry, _please_. I mean, we're close enough for that, don't you think?" The thrust of his hips against Snape's punctuated the request. 

Well, perhaps some boundaries were meant to be crossed without a proper dinner date.

The sofa needed cleaning charms. Both of them did, too. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was this. Snape slid his fingers through Potter's long messy mane. "Harry," he allowed himself to answer, tasting the rolling syllables on his tongue.

_My Harry._

* * *

After a late dinner, Snape took Harry's hand and led him up the staircase to his bedroom. Only his Lumos lit the way, which sent the shadows from the cobwebs up on the ceiling fluttering like giant moths. The staircase creaked in the dark under their weight and Snape had taken great care not to trip as he led Harry up to the room which for the life of it had never let in another magical creature still alive, besides Snape himself. 

Snape took a step over the threshold of his bedroom and turned. Harry was here, right here, and he stared at Snape as if he was terrified to look away even for a second.

"I apologise for all the clutter," Snape said. "This room needs cleaning."

A short huff of warm laughter was his answer. "I hadn't noticed 'til you said it," Harry confessed. "Was watching you."

In that exact moment, caught in Harry's trusting stare, Snape knew at last how the intimacy of watching someone back felt. Even though the last thing Snape had ever wanted in life was to bring a lover into this terrible hovel, the surroundings faded when he gave into the eager, easy laughter, showing a smile of his own. He felt anchored and splayed open by Harry's sincere, reassuring gaze and for once cared not about the scrutiny.

"I'm flattered."

"Good."

"How so?"

"You deserve it."

"I..."

"Hush, you do. You deserve good things, and much more than just good things."

Such a simple sentiment, and yet it stung. It's as though Harry had peered through time, and saw the scrawny, tear-stained child that dwelled within these dark corners once, trapped like a fly under the glass jar. As if he'd been a silent witness to everything and more through a Pensieve, every tear track and every heartbreak, and at the end of it all, did not mind what he'd just seen, not enough to send Harry sprinting through the doorway. It's as if Harry had wanted Snape anyway, all of it. Despite Snape's past. Or maybe even because of it.

"I... Harry, I'm not used to visitors. Not in this house. Not in this room."

"I don't want to be just a visitor." Harry smiled. _Could it be that simple?_

"You've never been 'just' anything. But then, you enjoy breaking the rules."

Harry slid his hands over Snape's forearms. "Yeah. It's my good luck, I reckon, that you aren't taking points for that anymore."

Snape allowed his mouth to curl into a smirk. "Ten points from Gryffindor for unfounded optimism."

Harry laughed, soft and sincere. "I don't believe you."

"Good. You shouldn't."

"Knew it!"

For that one moment, an odd sense of calm settled over Snape, the rare kind that only came with desiring nothing more, because he already had everything he didn't dare to even ask for. 

"For what it's worth," Snape admitted, standing a foot away from his narrow, unmade bed and allowing his mind to focus on simple tasks, like unbuttoning his collar, instead of the crippling worry of being seen with none of his daily armour (of acidic barbs and billowing robes) and being found wanting. "You are far from a mere visitor in my home. Always have been."

Harry's answering stare was soft and warm and somehow it turned out to be just the right thing to say, as Harry reached for him and pulled him into a warm hug, strong and unhurried, followed by a kiss so enthusiastic that Snape had felt it in his curling toes and had to catch his breath afterwards.

* * *

Grim yawned and stretched out, completely diagonal across the bedsheets, taking up every available inch of space on the narrow bed.

"This is mental," Harry sighed, at about six in the morning, fighting for territory and losing against the giant shaggy lump faking his sleep. "I've got a bed over three times this size at Grimmauld Place. It would fit you and me and a dozen dogs. Not that anyone ever needs a dozen dogs, mind."

"Alas, I was just doubting your sanity."

"Trust me, I'm doubting my own." Harry yawned and stretched, elbowing Grim out of the way as he reached out for Snape. "Giving up that bed for this one. No sane person would."

Snape hmphed. "If you're so displeased, the sofa is always an option. Grim, get out of here."

Grim obeyed, yawning wide.

"I won't be able to sit down on that sofa again without thinking 'bout... well, everything." Harry wiggled his way under Snape's arm and blushed in such an appealing way, it was worth directing all of Snape's efforts to answer him with a heated stare and then with an equally heated kiss.

Harry's glasses rested over the windowsill, next to Mum's gobstones. As Harry reached over Snape, he didn't pick up the glasses, but plucked an inky-black orb with a glittering galaxy of sparks from its place among the peeling paint.

"My mother's," Snape said, by way of explanation. "She used to play. Was rather good at it too."

Harry smiled as if Snape had shared something precious. And perhaps he did. He set the 'stone down gently, as if it was a fragile artefact.

"This house wasn't a happy place for her, for a long time. But once she was in a rare good mood and she taught me to play gobstones."

"Sounds fun." Harry smiled with the wistful stare of someone who grew up without a mother.

"She would not have approved of me bringing a strange young man into my bed. Wouldn't approve of Grim being here either. A crow perhaps, but not a dog."

Harry nodded, his chin sharp resting against Snape's shoulder, not interrupting, and Snape revealed more than he intended to.

"She wanted me to find somebody. Anyone who didn't mind me in the mornings. I wonder what she'd've thought of you after getting to know you."

Harry's embrace, strong and sudden, snapped him out of the moment of reminiscence. "I reckon we'd best have a proper breakfast and all, to make up for all the wild sex beforehand. For your mum's sake."

Snape's mouth curled into a grin as he slid his hands all over Harry's sleep-warm skin. 

"Later," he murmured. _Because we have a 'later' to worry about now,_ a thought dawned, well-worth exploring. But it was still early morning and the present moment filled him with joy. The way Harry's messy hair spilled over Snape's pillow, the way he sighed as Snape's fingers traced their way across his ribs.

Last night Snape had taken off his clothes, unbuttoning his shirt with a patient hand as Harry's curious fingers got in the way rather than assisted. Nox, he'd said then, extinguishing his Lumos because the darkness was more forgiving, even to ugly old sods, and it felt easier to reveal himself to Harry's touch alone, without that questioning gaze. It was afterwards, in the middle of Snape's bedroom, that Harry's warm, eager hands had covered Snape's jaw as a precursor to a kiss, had slid down his neck and chest, tracing out the angular shapes of Snape's body, until Snape gasped with understated pleasure of being touched by a willing, wanting hand. 

Things were different now, in the morning light, as the safety of darkness lifted. The greying sunlight streamed through the window and Harry could see every inch of Snape's body, the pale complexion and the bony limbs, should he wish to. Snape shifted, keeping his face under the perpetual shadow of his long hair, because that much he could still hide. Not for long, it seemed. Because Harry beamed at him, reaching out and brushing Snape's hair back away from his face. "There," he murmured, as if the gesture was significant somehow. "Much better."

Snape had no intention of teasing, but any distraction away from himself was a welcome tactic. And so he brushed his hand alongside Harry's hip, followed it up by pressing his fingers on the inside of Harry's thigh and sliding his hand inwards, parting Harry's legs. And up he followed, alongside the unspoken script. From the looks of it, Harry was already half-hard, his cock sticking up in the air. Snape couldn't help it, he moved his knuckles back and forth along the underside of it.

The way Harry inhaled sharply, and arched up, thrusting, and kept on at it meant Snape did something right. Snape used the moment of distraction to bend down and close his lips over the hard handful, gliding his mouth down over the tip of Harry's cock. Harry tasted of salt and skin, and the sound he made right there and then, mid-thrust, had inspired Snape to exhale over the hard flesh, and put his sharp tongue to use as an instrument of torture, of a different kind than usual.

Harry's fingers slid over his ears, and there was a certain tenderness to the way his hands guided Snape's head, as delicate as they could be in desperation. The press of Harry's fingers against his skull grew harder, and Harry's sighs grew louder as Snape bobbed his head up and down, tasting salty arousal on his tongue. Harry moaned and arched up then, and Snape slid his hands under Harry's arse and grasped hard, prompting an eager reaction. _There, that's it._

A hard grip and a few flicks of his tongue against the head of Harry's cock was all it took. Snape climbed beside Harry and held the loose-limbed man afterwards, feeling Harry exhale frantically against his chest.

An enthusiastic kiss caught him off-guard. As much as Harry flipping him over with a determined stare, intending to repay the favour. But bed was neither the time nor the place for favours and Snape was determined to keep it that way.

It would've been so easy to let go, to give into this frantic pace. So easy. "Wait," Snape forced the word out. A thank you was the last thing on his mind but not holding Harry in his arms was unbearable. "Come back up here."

Snape moved both arms around Harry's wiry form, turning him to the side and burying his face against the back of that warm neck. Harry's hair tickled his nostrils, but it didn't matter. They stretched over the entire length of the narrow bed, hip to hip, with Harry pressed square against the wall, with Harry's bare arse right _there_ , right against his cock and all Snape could do is thrust in, into the hollow between Harry's clenched, slickened thighs and shudder from the impossible bliss of it. 

"Yeah, like this," Harry groaned under him, and reached behind him, his hands sliding, warm and sure over Snape's arse and squeezing, pressing them both together with an iron grip, sharp points of Harry's nails digging into his skin driving Snape mad with need. A warm finger found its way down Snape's crack and Harry didn't even have to press in deeper, that was it, with the helpless thought of Harry claiming whatever it is he touched with such ease, with a flick of one finger, had Snape undone and thrusting and groaning against the tight heat.

Again and again, he felt himself pushing in and stilled mid-thrust, teetering on the brink of overwhelming pleasure. Yes.

"Just like this, yeah. Just let me have you. I've got you, yes, like this, I've got you. Not letting go. Ohgod. Severus!"

Snape saw white as the wave of utter bliss overtook his senses. Heat spread outwards through his limbs. His heart skipped a beat.

"My Harry."

It was incredible. Unexplainable. Presumptuous to voice it. Snape clutched the impossible man to him as a dragon clutches his hoard and felt the tension drain from every muscle of his body.

He was free. He was weightless enough to soar. He was home.

Morning light seeped through the window curtains, brightening the room to the dull twilight, visible enough to bring back Snape's self-consciousness of being seen by another. 

Harry had seemed unbothered enough to be here. His face showed no hint of regret about what transpired yesterday or today. He didn't wince as he put on his glasses and looked back at Snape through them. Instead, he smiled, unselfconscious and carefree.

The morning was late and Harry was still here, maybe he'd even stay longer. It was still too early to tell. Chances were good Harry might still run away screaming someday. Though today, for the first time in ages Snape held out hope for tomorrow.

* * *

Harry's tea cups contained no bad omens for weeks. Snape had examined every morning cuppa with the paranoia of a true dark arts purveyor. Harry himself had been more cautious about taking risks: there were no sudden injuries at work or elsewhere and he wasn't as oblivious at recounting his Auror adventures. Perhaps Snape's lectures had sunk in.

A week later, Grim led Snape and Harry on a walk through Spinner's End. Harry held the leash, running ahead now and then and letting Snape catch up.

"Severus?" The way Harry said his name was so unlike how Mum used to say it. The sound left warmth instead of wariness in its wake.

"Hmm."

"Never thought you'd be a dog person."

"I'm not!" Snape protested.

"Uh-huh. And how'd you end up with Grim again?"

"How does any stray get in? Much like yourself, he showed up and refused to go away."

"Hey!" Harry made a face. "You sound like I pranced in, landed on the sofa, and started licking my balls right in your sitting room!"

Snape snorted and shook his head. "Even you are not that nimble."

"Well, we can't all be as perfect as your pet."

Snape recalled Harry's misplaced enthusiasm at the thought of a dozen dogs and felt it prudent to clarify his intent. "For your information, I'm not in the habit of acquiring pets. In fact, I am not planning on allowing any more strays into my home."

"We're lucky then," the insufferable brat beamed. "Grim and I. Got in just in time."

Snape allowed his lips to twist into a smirk as he reached out and ran his hand through that shaggy mop on top of Harry's head. "Fortunate indeed," he murmured and leaned forward to meet those pursed lips with his own. "As am I."

"Good," Harry breathed against the corner of his mouth. "Home?"

"Home," Snape agreed, calling out to Grim and striding back to the house.

* * *

Grim peered out the window. His belly was still full and his mind calm. Upstairs, his pack slept, both the den master and the new pup. Last night they nuzzled and licked one another clean and settled in side by side in their den, their scents mingling.

The heavy window curtain draped over Grim's muzzle and he snapped at it with annoyance, wiggling under and letting it fall off him like rain. He didn't like curtains, but he liked everything else here. The worn wood so easily clawed and both of the warmest corners and the comfortable quiet which made it easy to nap in the afternoon. He liked the dusty, leathery taste of his chew toy, the crunchy bark of the flying sticks when he snapped them in mid-air, the fishy smell of the river and the slushy crunch of snow under his paws, the rush of the wind cooling his muzzle as he ran the familiar icy paths and the satisfied knowing he'd need to slow down a lot for his pack to keep up. He was the fastest of them all.

Sometimes all this waiting around for the others to catch up to him felt like an endless peering through passages, their curtains or doors swept aside. Every day brought lots of rocks to rest his paws over, openings to leap through, turns to take. Grim studied every smell, every taste, every door, enthusiastic as only a growing soul could be. He was young. Young and happy and hungry for more.

The sun rose over the stone homes on the other side of the path and Grim stirred from his mesmerised stillness. It was time to wake his pack.

His tongue lolled out as he bounded up the staircase.

It was a new day.

* * *

_"...know this; the ones that love us never really leave us." - Sirius Black.  
J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_

**Author's Note:**

> Hell-broth is a reference to Shakespeare's Macbeth:  
>  _Fillet of a fenny snake,_  
>  _In the cauldron boil and bake;_  
>  _Eye of newt, and toe of frog,_  
>  _Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,_  
>  _Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,_  
>  _Lizard's leg, and howlet's wing,_  
>  _For a charm of powerful trouble,_  
>  _Like a hell-broth boil and bubble._
> 
> Please leave a comment here or at [Livejournal](https://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3808568.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1744087.html), or [Dreamwidth](https://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/1056902.html).


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